Valley of Vice

by Steve Garcia

  At her desk, Coombs checked the other Makarov incidents in COMPSTAT. A list of twenty-three incidents involving that make came up in LA. Almost all the entries fell within the last six months. Eleven fatalities. Nine of those had been gang members. Three Makarovs were taken from members of the Cuban gang, two from Los Diablos, and four from El Cuervos. The serial numbers weren’t sequential but they were too damned close to be a coincidence.

  The guns used in the two fatalities not involving Latino gang members, based on their serial numbers, also came from the same batch, but the victims proved to be more interesting.

  Victim: Alex Demidov. Member of the Russian gang Medved. Found floating in the

  ocean about six months ago. Shot twice. One in the face. One in the chest.

  Victim: Langdon Fisher. Found dead at the construction site of the Immelman, a

  nightclub in East LA, over four months ago. Single shot to the head. Ruled a suicide. Serial number TE9021.

  Again, the same batch.

  Then Coombs opened up the next file. It was dated nearly seven months ago. Police raid on the Medved gang. There was a list of the gang members arrested, the list of the few who got away, and…there was Alex Demidov. There was also a list of items seized. Drugs. Cars. Pretty typical and mostly not noteworthy except for item nineteen. One hundred and twenty Makarov IJ70-17AS pistols, caliber 9x18 (.380ACP), adjustable rear sight.

  The last Makarov file was an order for destruction of the one hundred and twenty Makarovs. Destruct Team: Sergeant Brooks. Sgt. McCauley. Officers Forston and Townsend.

  She added the names to her tablet.

  Again, the voice in her head told her to back up. The shadow of something real nasty was looming.

  Coombs headed for the break room as much to pace a little as for the coffee. There was no one in sight and the only sound she could hear was a vacuum running in some distant part of the station. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. A light was on in Brooks’s room and another in the temporary office that had been set up for the FID squad.

  She strolled down the main hall. When she passed the slightly open door, she peered in. No one home.

  Following another glance up and down the hallway, Coombs slipped into the office. She made a mental note to leave everything as the FID staff had left it. Coombs leaned over the desk. Lots of files. Personnel files. Case files. Felon files. She gingerly lifted a couple with her index finger, and then her eye caught something. The Ignatiez file sat open on the desk.

  She leaned over and turned the pages under the light. On top were the crime scene photos showing Ignatiez lying awkwardly against a low wall. Following were close-ups of the head wound and shell casing. Coombs turned the pages, which then summarized Ignatiez’s record. Arrests for possession and assault going back three years. One name stood out on the reports. Arresting officer for possession—Det. Jerry Cresner.

  A noise in the hall made Coombs’s heart thump.

  Let that be the cleaners.

  She let the page fall closed and darted to the door. Brooks got there at the same time.

  “Christ!” Coombs yelled. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “What in the hell were you doing in here?” He looked past her into the office. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know?”

  Coombs came out into the hall and pulled the door back into the same position she found it. “Were you sneaking around here earlier?”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Why were you in there? You keep nosing around and you’re going to find yourself in trouble.”

  She hesitated as she felt a small blush color her cheeks. “I was just looking for a file.”

  “Oh, yeah? Which one?”

  “A guy called Arsenio Ignatiez.”

  It was Ray’s turn to go red. Coombs could tell right away the name meant something to her sergeant.

  “What about him?”

  “It says Jerry Cresner arrested Ignatiez for dealing a couple of years back.”

  “Is that all?”

  “That’s all I saw, Sergeant.”

  The radio crackled on Brooks’s chest. He was the only one in the squad who insisted on still wearing his uniform.

  “All units in the vicinity, we have a hostage situation on Pandora Avenue. Suspect is armed. Repeat, Pandora Avenue—”

  Brooks clicked the radio off. “That’s Jerry’s road. Come on, we’ve got to go.”

  His hand was on the small of her back, guiding her toward the rear exit.

  “Sergeant,” she said. “My shift’s done. I was going to head—”

  Brooks stare became hard, angry. “They’ve got it all wrong.”

  Ray was acting very strange for a guy she always considered to be slow and steady. “You know what, Sergeant, I’ve got other things I need to check out.”

  Brooks blocked her way as she tried to move past him.

  “You need to learn to stand by your fellow officers, detective. Since you’re poking around, asking questions, maybe I can provide you with a few answers. I’ll drive.”

  Coombs went with him to the parking lot. Her sense of fear was nothing but a glimmer. Ray Brooks was no danger to anyone, surely. Like Sal had said, he couldn’t scare a five-year-old.

  The dispatcher reported shots fired on Pandora Avenue. FID on the scene. SWAT units being dispatched.

  “Get in.” Brooks ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Damn them, if they hurt Jerry.”

  As Coombs buckled her belt, Brooks turned the keys and gunned the engine.

  “I don’t have my vest, helmet—any of my gear,” said Coombs. “It’s in my car.”

  “You’re not going to need it.” Brooks flipped on the lights and siren and stepped hard on the gas.

  22

  “Brooks is in a hurry,” said Reyes, as they parked up at Wilcox Avenue.

  “When I’m nearing my thirty, I won’t be sticking around after hours, either,” said Wallace.

  At her desk, Wallace picked up an open folder—the ballistics report confirmed what she already knew.

  Wallace turned her attention to her phone messages—Davey was already in OR one, his wife in reception. Apparently David had called for her twice.

  She put the note aside. She wondered what David wanted but didn’t feel like talking with him right now. She picked up a Post-it note.

  Clement Rosen. Credit Card reported stolen. Case ID SD09-1861265-2465. San Diego.

  “Hey, Sal.” Her voice sounded as tired as she felt. “I have to check in with the desk sergeant. Apparently Davey’s wife is out there. Davey’s in the IR.”

  “I’ll get our shit together,” Reyes said. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  Wallace walked past the empty offices. No Siley. No FID. She pushed open the door that led to the lobby and glanced up at the clock. Just after eight. Wallace gave the civilians a once-over. A sad-looking older black couple huddled together. Ten bucks said their kid has been picked up for something and they have no idea what to do. A young Latino woman. Attractive. Coming down to pay the bail on her punk-ass boyfriend. And white woman with pursued lips and a thousand-yard stare.

  Janet Davey.

  Wallace stopped to talk with Sergeant Vandergriff but kept one eye on Mrs. Davey. “Did she say anything?”

  Vandergriff leaned forward. “She was noisy when she arrived, demanding, threatening, running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Since then, she’s been sitting with her legs crossed and pretty much the pissed-off expression you see now.”

  “Think I need to talk to her?”

  “Can’t hurt, I suppose.”

  Wallace crossed the room and stood in front of Davey’s wife. “Hello, Janet. Do you remember me? I’m Detective Wallace.”

  She looked up. “Yes. I remember.” She put a piece of gum into her mouth and slowly began chewing.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

 
; She kept chomping on her gum.

  “You can tell me why you have my husband locked up in there.”

  “We’ve arrested your husband because we think he’s involved in the murder of Bartholomew Pearl and Theodore Simons.”

  “That’s crazy. Sam’s not a killer.”

  “He needs to convince us of that, Mrs. Davey. There’s nothing you can do for him here. I suggest you go home.”

  “I bet your husband left you a long time ago, didn’t he, Detective Wallace?”

  The words took the wind out of Wallace’s sails, and she turned and headed back toward the Pit.

  “I’m back, Sal. Come on.”

  He scooped up the files and followed her.

  She opened the door to the interview room and held it for Reyes.

  “Hello again.” Reyes placed the folders on the table, then took the end seat. He straightened the stack of manila folders and put one hand on top of them. He rested his other arm on his lap.

  Wallace sat across from Davey. His face was tired, but his eyes were hard.

  “Okay, Sam,” she said. “We need to clarify a few things from our conversation earlier

  today.”

  “I’ve got nothing to clarify. I’ll wait for my attorney before I say anything else.”

  “That’s fine. You don’t have to talk, but you still have to listen.”

  Davey leaned back a little from the table and folded his arms. Wallace held a hand out toward Reyes. He slid a folder to her. “Now,” she said, “I know that you said that the bids on the studio projects were all on the up and up. So, maybe you can answer one question for me. For a construction pro like you, it probably is an easy one to answer. It deals with erections.” She opened the folder and slid one of the photos in front of Davey.

  Davey’s clasped his hand to his mouth. His eyes shifted from the photograph to Wallace. “Where…” His head dropped. “Pearl.”

  “I thought I heard you say something but that can’t be since you’re not talking.” Wallace said. She slid out a second photo beside the first. “Here’s what I think. You were impacting Pearl’s business. He told you to back off. You figured it was nothing more than tough-guy talk. Pearl was a bit of a thug but you weren’t afraid of him. Then some of these photos show up. Sent to your house maybe? I bet there was a note that said to drop out of the bid process or the photos would be released to the public.”

  Wallace tilted her head slightly. “How am I doing?” Davey sat immobile, his gaze frozen on the photo. Wallace put another photo down. Then another.

  “You couldn’t allow that to happen. Your company needed the work. Oh, I know you said there was plenty of work for everyone and Sphinx Construction was as busy as ever, but that wasn’t quite true. Your income had slipped a lot in the last five years. But as desperate as you were, you couldn’t risk Pearl revealing these to anyone.” Wallace dropped another picture on to the pile. “My partner and I figured that you followed Pearl until you cornered him in the Pine Tree Motel and killed him.”

  Davey took a deep breath. “You and your partner figured wrong.” It was still a denial but now it didn’t sound so self-righteous.

  “Unfortunately, despite your Herculean efforts,” said Reyes, “you couldn’t find the photos.”

  “I never looked.”

  “Yes, you did,” Wallace said. “Oh, how you tried. But you couldn’t figure out where Pearl had hidden them. Then you got a brilliant idea. Figuring he had a partner in the blackmail—Simons, was it?—you’d send a message. You dumped Pearl’s body in the Green Cheese building and torched the place.”

  Davey shook his head. “You’ve got it wrong, detective. I haven’t seen Pearl for months. Please, take these away.”

  Wallace threw the final photo on the stack. “The blackmailer was dead but you were still worried about the pictures. You went to Pearl’s apartment and started ripping the place apart, but the more you looked, the more frustrated you became. You slashed and tore and broke things and never did find the photographs. I’m sure that was eating you up, wasn’t it?”

  Davey checked his watch and looked at the door. “My attorney will be here soon. Please” —he pushed the photos together with his hands—“hide these.”

  “They were in Pearl’s motel room after all, you know. Did he beg for his life on the floor of the bathroom?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Davey was starting to sound like a boxer who had gone too many rounds. Each revelation seemed to confuse him even more.

  “We know you killed Pearl with a Makarov. I guess he knew you’d kill him anyway. Fixing up Simons was clever.”

  Reyes cut in. “At least two murders, arson, destruction of property, impeding an investigation…we’re talking serious shit here. We don’t have to make all of it stick to put you away for a long time.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not listening to me. I didn’t do any of it.”

  “A long time,” Wallace repeated.

  “Look. You’ve got the pictures. You can see why I didn’t volunteer that information. And yes, Pearl was blackmailing me, but I didn’t kill him.”

  The door burst open and a suited, sweating man came in with the Sergeant Vandergriff.

  “You don’t have to say anything to them,” he said. “Officers, you know that anything my client has said thus far is inadmissible.”

  “It’s okay, Deiter, take a seat,” Davey said in a resigned voice. “Detectives, this is Deiter Ellberg, my solicitor.”

  Reyes pushed his seat beside Davey and gestured to Ellberg to take it. He did so without acknowledgment. Reyes then sat beside Wallace. She rustled the photos again, but kept them hidden.

  “Mr. Davey was being a great help with our enquiries,” she said.

  “Are you going to charge my client, detective?”

  “Deiter—” Davey began.

  “Let me handle this, Samuel.” He held up his hand. “Detectives, this is the second time today you’ve brought my client across town on a whim. I will be advising him to sue for harassment.”

  “Enough!” shouted Davey, losing his temper. “I can handle this myself. The man in the photos is Robbie McCall. He models during the day and works the street at night. I’ve been seeing him on and off for a couple of years.”

  The attorney looked confused.

  “You’re a regular?” asked Wallace.

  “Yes.” Davey’s voice was quiet again.

  “Does your wife know about you and McCall?”

  His face twisted into a look of disbelief. “It would probably kill her.”

  “What’s going on, Samuel?” asked Ellberg.

  Davey put his head in both hands for a few seconds, then looked at Wallace. “Can you give me a moment with my lawyer, Detective Wallace? I’ll tell you everything you need to know after that.”

  Wallace looked at Reyes, who nodded. “Sure thing, Mr. Davey. We’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Take your time.”

  They left the room, and Wallace pulled the door quietly behind them.

  In the break room, Reyes poured them a coffee.

  “You think he’s gonna confess?” Reyes asked.

  “I sure hope so. We cut him loose once. Twice is embarrassing and you can be sure as hell he will sue the department.”

  “Then I guess it would be me shaving my chest for vice.”

  Wallace couldn’t muster a laugh. “Davey doesn’t look like a cold-blooded killer, does he?”

  “They probably said the same thing about Dahmer.”

  She swallowed a mouthful and took a black cup for Davey. Once they were ready to give it up, it didn’t hurt to play nice.

  Back in the IR, Deiter Ellberg was pale and Davey looked resolute.

  Wallace slid the coffee in front of him.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Do you want to take it from the day of Pearl’s death?” said Wallace.

  “Nope,” he said. “I’ll go
back a bit further, if that’s okay with you.” He paused.

  “Go ahead,” said Wallace.

  Davey took a deep breath. “I trusted Robbie. That was the biggest mistake. I should have got suspicious when he suggested a different room to normal. Anyhow, two days after, I’m due to meet with a developer up on North Ridgewood and I notice an envelope in my in-tray. Addressed to me personally, private and confidential. Thank Christ Bridget didn’t open it. I knew right away who it was from, even though there were no names.”

  “Pearl?”

  Davey nodded. “It just said to keep well away from the North Ridgewood deal. Hell, I was struggling to put something together anyway. I had enough going on with the Green Cheese work. But then Sonny himself comes up to me, that son of a bitch. Right there outside the offices of Jimmy Moon. Tells me that he’s taking over the business from Bart, and if I want my private life to stay private, then I give up the phase two bid. Well, that just about finished me off. I thought that by moving into private construction, that corrupt asshole at the council and Pearl wouldn’t be able to touch me anymore.”

  “You’re talking about Simons?”

  “Yeah, the good councilman. Hell, I almost flattened that bastard Sonny, but I knew that if I did, my marriage would be over.”

  “So you killed Pearl?”

  “I’ve told you, I had nothing to do with that. I may have threatened his asshole brother-in-law, but I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “So you deny breaking into his apartment and then the motel room where he was staying?”

  “I don’t even know where his apartment is, detective, and I didn’t know that he was out of jail.”

  “Mr. Davey, you can see where the evidence points.”

  Davey sighed. “I’ve told you everything—the truth. The only reason I’ve done so is to keep those photos away from my wife.”

  Wallace stared into his face and he met her without flinching. She had the sinking feeling that he was telling the truth.

  “Detectives,” said Ellberg, “do you have any concrete evidence at all that my client was involved with these murders? Or does your entire case rest on these photos?”